Jovah's Angel (37 page)

Although…

After she had been fed and tended and left blessedly alone to sleep, she lay back on her borrowed bed to think. Well, it was not the entrance she had planned to make, but it would be effective nonetheless. Who could fail to listen to her, who could doubt her sincerity, when she showed up with these proofs of Jovah's negligence on her face? She had to be careful, though, or she would misplay this. And it was her last trump in a very thin hand.

She slept past noon the next day and felt wretched enough that she agreed to stay the rest of the day, trying to recuperate. She did insist on taking a practice flight around the outbuildings of the compound, and was vastly relieved to find her wings fully functional, though a little weary. She did not care if she broke every bone in her body as long as her wings were whole.

She went to bed early and rose with the farmers, eating a quick breakfast and thanking them profusely for their help.
Not at all, not at all, delighted to be of service to the Archangel
. She left as soon as she politely could, heading southeast toward Semorrah. The storm had thrown her decidedly off course, knocking her much farther north than she had thought possible. She had more than a hundred miles to go, and a desperately important meeting to be at in a few short hours.

She flew steadily and carefully through an entirely calm sky. After the first hour, her nerves steadied and she lost most of her fear. Though it was a fear that she was sure would never leave her completely. And she might never have the courage to fly through a storm again.

And this world was turning into nothing but storms.

She made it to the Galilee River about thirty minutes before the noon meeting was scheduled to begin. Coming down in a slow spiral from her flying altitude, she paused a moment to hover over the wondrous city of Semorrah. From any angle, but especially from the air, it was a breathtakingly beautiful place. Built of pure white stone on a tiny island in the middle of the Galilee River, it boasted a magical collection of multistoried buildings ornamented with delicate arches, spiraled obelisks and lacy stone grillwork. The rushing river foamed around its edges, no more white or playful than the stones of Semorrah themselves. To the east, the city reached a thin hand to Jordana with a slender and famous bridge that was the only approach to the city by land. Other visitors booked passage in ferries from the Bethel shore. And, of course, angels could always come and go at will.

Alleya dropped closer, still fascinated by the complex, interlaced architecture below her. She almost wished that she had arrived at night, for then the city was doubly exquisite. The advent of electricity—driven by the mighty Galilee River rushing by the city on all sides—had given Semorrah a decided advantage. Every merchant, every burgher, even the lowliest common-market trader, had wired his home and office for power, and at night, Semorrah was a carnival of lights. Even Luminaux could not rival it for visual enchantment.

Alleya sighed and tightened the circle of her descent. All that was true, and yet there were those who despised Semorrah, and rightfully. Here the wealthiest merchants held absolute sway, and here some of the cruelest abuses of the past few centuries had been welcomed. Semorrah had been a sanctuary for slavers, back when that disgrace had flourished in Samaria; and there was no end to the stories you could hear about the deceptions and trickeries practiced by the rival river merchants. Alleya had often thought that Semorrah looked like a place where angels should live. The merchants deserved to live someplace more like Breven.

She tilted her wings, dropped her feet, and made a neat landing on the narrow stone entryway before Gideon Fairwen's house. Well-trained servants were at the door; she did not need to identify herself or her mission to be ushered wordlessly to a conference room in the heart of the mansion. Someone took her backpack from her and someone else silently offered her a tray of refreshments, but she shook her head. She wanted to appear in the doorway empty-handed.

She also shook her head at the footman who guarded the door to Gideon's meeting hall, when he asked in a murmur, “Shall I announce the Archangel?” But she paused a moment outside, to catch her breath from the agonizing climb up three flights of steps on an injured ankle. Past the closed door she could hear angry voices raised in bitter argument. Either they had started early, or the flight had taken longer than she calculated. The strident voice was Aaron's; the calmer but still angry voice was Jerusha's. Obviously nothing had been settled yet.

She nodded to the footman, and he opened the door. She stepped inside, quickly looking about the room to note the placement of her allies and adversaries. Heads snapped her way in irritation at this interruption, and then abruptly all conversation ceased. Maybe fifty pairs of eyes stared at her in various degrees of concern and consternation. She picked out Samuel's face (relieved and frightened), Jerusha's (appalled), Gideon's (shocked), Aaron's (suspicious). Asher, coming impetuously to his feet, was the first to speak.

“Angela, what happened to you? We have been so worried!”

A babble of voices rose in a series of similar questions, but Alleya held up her hand for silence. Everyone subsided.

“I ran afoul of the temper of the god,” she said quietly. “And I hope we have all gathered here today to work together to solve the problems that beset us. For none of us will survive if we attempt to deal with this on our own.”

There was a moment of silence, then the expected outcry. Samuel had come forward to urge her to the seat at the head of the table, left empty for her. Asher appeared on her right hand with a glass of water and an anxious expression, and he made no move to leave her side even after she had been settled. Everyone else was still firing questions at her or talking across the table, sharing speculations with others in the room. It was Gideon Fairwen who finally called them to order. Fairwen, a stately, intelligent and dangerous man, sat at the foot of the long table, directly facing her.

“So. Angela. Tell us what happened to you,” he said, his voice measured, almost neutral. He had recovered his habitual aplomb. “We had wondered where you were.”

“When you were not here when we arrived,” Asher murmured in her ear, “we had the worst fears.”

“Somewhere a little north of Sinai, I got caught by a storm and was thrown to the ground,” she said calmly. “I don't think
it's an exaggeration to say I might have been killed.”

A small gasp circled the table. “Like Delilah!” Micah exclaimed. Alleya nodded.

“Exactly like Delilah. And like Samuel, and Asher, and the others who were with her that night.”

“But are you saying you could not control the storm? That you prayed to Jovah and he did not respond?” Aaron demanded.

“I barely had a chance to begin a prayer to Jovah,” Alleya said.

“But if he had heard you, he would have answered. He would have diverted the storm,” the Manadavvi said.

“Perhaps. I have never felt Jovah's temper before. I don't think, at that moment, he cared whether or not I survived his gale. I don't think he would have listened.”

Now the expression on every face was identical: horrified. “But Alleya,” Jerusha began, only to have her voice drowned out by forty other voices. Finally, Emmanuel made himself heard.

“I thought
you
were the only angel the god always listened to,” he said on a rising note. “I thought
you
were the one who could always control the god.”

“No one controls the god,” Alleya said quietly. “We all petition him. Until now, he has always listened to my voice. This time, he did not.”

“But Alleya,” Jerusha said, “what does that mean? If the god cannot hear
you
—”

“That is what we have come here to discuss,” she said, still in that level voice. “I understand that the Manadavvi”—she nodded at Aaron and Emmanuel—“and the merchants”—a look at Gideon Fairwen and his compatriots—“and some of the Jansai”—she glanced at the Breven contingent, bedecked in their gypsy clothes and their gold chains—“all accuse the angels of manipulating the weather in order to force their hands. I would like to hear why they think that. But I would also like to ask them what they plan to do if their theory is wrong. What they plan to try next to save Samaria from flood and destruction.”

Emmanuel stabbed an accusatory finger at her. “You cannot deny that angels have always been able to call forth storms and send them away,” he said fiercely.

Alleya nodded. “Until this past year—yes, we have always been able to do so.”

“And so when our crops were drowned and our riverways
flooded, who should we have thought responsible if not the angels?”

“And why would angels have done such a thing? What reason could we have for destroying your fields—the crops that feed us all?”

“You are angry with us!” Aaron burst out. “Because you think we do not honor our treaties or pay the proper taxes—”

“Well, do you?” she asked mildly.

There was a sizzling pause; then Aaron flung at her: “When they are fair!”

“And I think they are fair, and a council of angels and merchants agreed they were fair, but we can address that later. What would make you think angels would resort to such despicable means to compel you? How could that profit us? If the croplands turn to swampland, we starve with everyone else. How can you ascribe such malice to us? What have we done to deserve this?”

“Then if not the angels—” Gideon began, and let the question hang. Everyone in the room had already figured out the answer, though not the reason.

“It was not the angels,” Alleya said. “We have done what we can to stop the storms. If they cannot be stopped, what can we do? What can we all do, working together? We have no other hope of survival.”

She paused, letting that sink in, then spoke in a voice so quiet that everyone had to lean forward to listen. “And I ask you to consider this as well,” she said. “If Jovah cannot hear the angels—and if you raise your voices and he cannot hear you—who will he hear in three months as we gather on the Plain of Sharon to sing his praises? Will all our voices, combined in the Gloria, be loud enough to catch his wandering attention? And if they are not, how will he respond?”

She waited, but no one had a reply. Dread sharpened every face turned in her direction. “It is written that if we do not all in harmony sing the Gloria, the god will send thunderbolts to destroy the world,” she said, her voice even lower. “But what if we sing—and he does not hear us? What will the god do then?”

Later, Samuel told her that she had conducted a magnificent meeting. Alleya was not conscious of feeling much triumph, however; she was tired, and her body ached, and the arguments she had put forth had frightened even her. But the mutiny appeared to be
over, and that was a victory of sorts. She no longer feared the damage the Manadavvi or the merchants could do.

No one had had much in the way of helpful suggestions except the Archangel, and hers was a forlorn hope. “I have been reading old history books from the Eyrie archives,” she said, glancing at Job and Mary and shading the truth. “They mention weather problems that the settlers had in the early days of colonization. The Edori also tell stories of wind and rain in those first hundred years on Samaria. Perhaps this is a cycle that occurs on this planet, maybe every five hundred years, and we must now simply endure it until it corrects itself.

“But I'm not sure,” she added, before the relief around the table could become too palpable. “The histories also mention—things it is difficult to understand—devices that men put in place around Samaria to enable Jovah to hear them more clearly. I wonder if these are machines similar to the interfaces the oracles use. If so, I wonder if I can find them and put them to use.”

“Put them to use how?” Job demanded.

“I won't know until I see them. Maybe I won't know even then.”

“But how will you find them?” one of the Jansai asked.

“The history books say that one of these devices can be found in the Corinni Mountains. My guess is that it's located at Hagar's Tooth. That's where I propose to look.”

“But once you find it,” Mary began. She paused, rubbed a hand across her face. She looked very tired. “You won't know how to use it. You can't even use the interfaces. Maybe I should go with you, or Job.”

“Maybe,” Alleya said gently. “But I thought I would first get help from one of the engineers who live in Luminaux. They've built dams and directed electricity and created incredible equipment. One of them was even able to fix a broken music machine at the Eyrie—a machine also left behind by the original colonists.”

“
That's
the man you should get,” Samuel exclaimed. “
He
would understand how these—hearing devices work.”

A general endorsement of this plan rose from the assembled council. Alleya nodded gravely, but her heart was laughing. As if she would consider any other engineer.

“Then it is agreed,” she said solemnly. “I will go to Hagar's Tooth to see what I can discover.”

There was a murmur of assent, and the meeting was essentially
over. People rose hesitantly to their feet, paused to discuss things with their neighbors. Asher dropped to his knees at Alleya's side, while the other angels in the room made their way to the Archangel's seat.

“Angela, what can I do to ease you?” Asher asked, so intensely that Alleya could not help smiling. “There are healers in the city—I can fetch them. I can bring you wine, or food. Tell me.”

“I just need time and sleep,” she said. “But thank you for your concern, Asher.”

Samuel and Jerusha reached her next, demanding details, exclaiming over the ugliness of her bruises. Micah hovered behind them. Alleya answered their questions as best she could, describing the uncontrolled frenzy of the wind, the suddenness of its attack. “I have never experienced anything like it before,” she said.